Fallen Enemies
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Angelique is dead, but no one expected Napoleon to take it so very hard.


When the news found him, via a short message from his communicator, he didn't have time for must more than a brief word of thanks for passing it in. Napoleon Solo was too intent upon staying alive and keeping his crazy partner in the same state. With Illya, that always proved more of a challenge.

In fact, Napoleon pushed the news aside, burying it in a corner of his brain until a more appropriate moment. Life being the way it was, that moment didn't come until much later.

He spread out the contents of the small chest on his coffee table. The entire contents of a woman's life and it only took up half of the table. How truly sad that was and yet Napoleon wondered about how much room either his or Illya's life would take up in comparison.

When he'd received the registered letter, it had taken him a full hour to open it. For a long time, he merely sat and studied it, inhaling her particular scene, remembering the last time he'd taken her and let the sensations carried him away on perfumed wings.

_Dearest Napoleon:_

_The fact that you are reading this, darling, means that the game, or at least my part in it, is over. You are the winner by the simple fact that you have out-lived me. It might be due to that infuriating luck of yours or possibly due to that insufferable man you call your partner. In any event, you are standing while I fell. _

_Because I have always considered you a worthy opponent, as well as a skilled and talented lover, I am leaving you in sole charge of my estate. Use it wisely and well._

_Consider this my final kiss, darling. And for what it was worth, I did truly love you._

_Checkmate, _

_Angelique_

At first, he'd thought it some elaborate hoax perpetuated by THRUSH or even Angelique herself, but it was proved by UNCLE intelligence that the woman had fallen, not from UNCLE, but from a coup within THRUSH itself. It was perhaps that fact that saddened Napoleon the most of all. To be taken down as part of the game was one thing; to be taken by your own was entirely different.

A black cloud formed over Napoleon. He stopped eating and socializing. He came to work and did what was expected of him but other than that, Napoleon Solo simply stopped. He had no idea why Angelique's death hit him so hard. They were warriors. Death hounded their heels even at the best of times. Why was this so hard for him to grasp. He read the letter over and over, but it didn't help.

The feeling got worse when the chest arrived. It was delivered to UNCLE HQ and Napoleon knew that Angelique would know that it would be examined. The bomb squad went over it as well as all the contents. Papers were tested, objects scanned and analyzed. In the end, it was delivered to Napoleon, none the worse for wear. _Sanitized, sterilized, pasteurized, and homogenized, all for your safety_, he thought. And his depression grew even worse.

Now he looked down at the object, all placed there by his own hand and yet he had no memory of having emptied the chest. He took her letter from his sweater pocket and caressed the perfumed sheet before setting it on top of the pile.

At the knock, he glanced away from the chest and then returned to it. There was a second knock and then the sound of a key in a lock.

"Napoleon?" A long minute passed and Illya tried again. "Napoleon?"

"Yes." He finally answered, knowing Illya would be like a dog with a bone, never stopping until he was satisfied.

"I came directly here. I just heard. I'm sorry."

"Thanks. How are things at home?"

"Fine. Nothing that a new government couldn't fix." Illya had been on a mission in the Baltic. He was able to move through the region without pulling much focus. It was one of his strong suits. That was when Napoleon noticed Illya's suit. It hung on him as if he was a teenage boy who'd raided his father's closet. When Illya had arrived in New York in an ill-fitted suit, Napoleon had just assumed her couldn't afford better. Then he learned it was Illya's way of hiding in plain sight. People saw the suit and didn't see the man until it was too late.

Napoleon envied Illya's ability to know when he could speak freely and when he needed to keep things closer to his chest. That was the way with so many of the other Russians he knew

Strips of white peeked out from the cuffs of his shirt and Illya moved as if he was stiff. That told Napoleon that the affair had been a tough one. He'd not been following things as closely as he'd previously done. "Are you okay?"

"I will survive, but I am not the one being discussed at the moment. Napoleon, my friend, how are you?" Illya wrinkled his nose and stifled a sneeze.

Napoleon gestured to the items on the table. "Her estate, can you believe it? An entire life right there."

"It is our way, Napoleon. We live quickly and leave little in our wake." Illya tipped his head sideways to read the letter, but he didn't touch a thing, as if out of respect for his partner, not the fallen THRUSH.

"I know, but this wasn't right."

"What do you mean?" Illya cleared his throat quietly.

"She was killed by her partner. The one person you are supposed to be able to trust and he stabbed her in the back, literally." Napoleon studied Illya as if seeing him for the first time.

Illya smiled and dropped his eyes to the carpet. "Then perhaps it is good that you are partnered with a non-ambitious man."

"It's just not right. I mean, Angelique wasn't an angel by any definition of the word. Yet when we were together, I felt that she was my equal, not just a willing party. I knew, even when we were making love, she was dangerous and cunning. It made the act more…"

"Deadly?"

"Just the opposite, more alive. " Napoleon sighed and picked up the letter again, running his fingers over the expensive stationary as if it was her skin. "I hold this and I can feel she is still close."

"Is that what I've been smelling?" Illya took out his handkerchief and turned away to cough into it and then wipe his nose. "I thought I was coming down with a cold."

"It's her signature perfume. She told me she had it specially designed for her in Paris."

"even after her death, she is finding ways to irritate me," Illya muttered. "For the sake of my sinuses, could I ask that you put the letter away?"

"Of course." Napoleon carried the letter to the bedroom and, kissing the top sheet, he set it down on his nightstand. He licked his lips, tasting her again, and a fresh wave of sadness crashed over him. He dropped to his bed and began to cry. Not just cry, but sob the way he had when his dog had been killed, when his buddy fell in battle. He cried because of the sense of loss and aloneness that overwhelmed him. He would never have anyone like Angelique in his life ever again.

When a pair of arms embraced him, Napoleon didn't stop to think about how men aren't supposed to crack like this. He didn't worry about how his façade might be damaged. He held on and let the weeks of sadness tumbled out of him.

Illya made soft comforting sounds in Napoleon's ear and rocked him back and forth. He felt himself being lifted as if he was a small child and moved some place. He didn't care enough to even bother to look. He just cried until there was nothing left inside and he slept, hoping he'd never wake.

Napoleon moaned as he slowly became aware of sounds around him. Odd beeping and muffled noises that eventually told him he was in Medical.

He opened one eye, face screwed up against the pain that simple action caused. He felt as if his head would split wide any moment.

"It's the effect of the drug, Napoleon." That statement was Napoleon's first clue that he wasn't alone. Illya was sitting at the foot of the bed. Illya's jacket was tossed carelessly over the back of the chair and he looked as if he hadn't showered or shaved in a few days. He looked as tired as Napoleon felt.

"Wha…" Napoleon broke off and coughed. Illya was there to offer him a glass of water and a straw. Napoleon sipped and closed his eyes in relief as the cool water coated his throat. After another long draw on the straw, he sat back and tried again. "What drug?" His voice was better, but still raspy.

Illya set the glass aside. "The chemical that was all over her letter." Illya smirked. "Even in death, she never stopped."

"I don't…"

"The paper was impregnated with a powerful drug. I won't bore you with the details, but it was a depressant and hallucinogenic . I suppose her reason was that it might lead to you downfall by Waverly's pulling you from the field or you making a fatal mistake out there. In either event, we would be down our best agent and THRUSH would have the advantage."

"Is she really dead?" Napoleon struggled to sit up in his bed.

"I'm afraid that part is real. Whether this was of her device or someone else's, we'll never know." Illya snapped his fingers and went for his jacket. He pulled an envelope out of the pocket and carried it back to him. "It's been cleaned."

Napoleon shook his head. "No, no, thanks."

"As you wish." Illya set the envelope on the tiny stand by the bed. "I will leave it there in case you'd like it later." He scooped up his coat and tugged it on. "I'll let you get some rest now."

"Illya?"

"Yes, Napoleon?"

"Thanks… for everything."

Illya smiled and nodded. "It's what partners really do for each other, Napoleon. I hope you'll remember that and let it comfort you."

Napoleon stared at the door for a long time after the Russian had left. He picked up the letter and scanned it. No feeling of overwhelming sorrow threatened to crush his heart now. "Checkmate, indeed, Angelique. You watched my king and my rook, but you never paid any attention to my white knight."

He dropped the letter into the bedside trashcan and went to sleep.


End file.
